Casa de Misfits
by SwaggedOutDesi
Summary: A straight faced Japanese roommate, a sickle wielding Russian in the apartment below, and a schizophrenic, flamboyant German next door; Tank figured he was in for a ride when he moved in.
1. New

**A/N: Please note this is just a story that had happened to have spawned in my head one day and grew to become something I've been itching to share. This supposed to be a modern and a fun take on the crew and, so with that I hope you guys come to like it. Like any other author here, reviews are gladly welcomed!**

* * *

**"Casa de Misfits"**

* * *

_"Sir? Sir! Can you hear me? I want you to try to nod your head if you can!"_

_"He appears conscious but not attentive."_

_"His pulse is fading! Try to stop the bleeding!"_

_"He's going into shock! Jesus! We can't loose another!"_

* * *

**"New"**

* * *

"Thanks for letting me move in, Tak. It means a lot."

Exhausted, Tank Dempsey fell backward on to his mattress on the floor behind him, glancing about his new room. It was rather plain with its modest 11' by 13' size, beige walls, vanilla carpet, and one large rectangular window, but he liked it. Even if was supposed to be the living room, he liked it. He couldn't have asked for more.

"No problem. I am happy to help a friend in need."

Tank glanced over at a corner, smiling sincerely at his new roommate. Nodding silently, Takeo stood against a wall, arms crossed as his dark eyes studied the room before him.

Having been recently immigrated to the Nevada all the way from his home country of Japan, Takeo Masaki knew what it was like to feel homeless.

Twenty-six and barely reaching 5' 6", thin framed and lean, Takeo could have easily appeared to be small, and frail. However he always managed to stand bound with an air of quiet coolness. His eyes watched everyone and everything with careful contempt from beneath his jet black bangs of his side swept hair. His naturally olive colored skin pitched in nicely to the tone of his fit muscles, while his face sat somewhat round and flat, giving him an innocent appearance. His short, feathered, skater-like hair only managed to soften his features being that they hid his somewhat heavy brows. Of course, without a doubt, Takeo managed to use his appearance to his advantage, and as an added bonus, his obvious Japanese accent.

At last, after a good year of struggling to find a place of his own in the city of Las Vegas, Takeo finally had found a home. It wasn't much being it hardly even covered 700 square feet and that it sat in a lower class area of the city, Takeo sought it as a good place to start. However, having only spent a month alone in the one bedroom apartment, Takeo didn't have the heart to say "no" to Tank, despite only knowing him for a week. Especially since he had been the one to offer a room. He knew space would be tight but he figured this case was special. The American had been a solider injured from combat and was at odds when it came to fitting back into society. In a way, Takeo though that was something they could share; fitting in to a new life.

"Do you want something to drink or eat, maybe?

Blinking away the glaze in his eyes, Tank gave a nod.

"Just some water," he spoke as he pulled himself up. "Here! Let me get it, Tak! I already feel like a freeloader-"

Takeo shook his head as he followed the American into his kitchen.

"It is okay, don't worry about it."

Pulling a glass cup from a cabinet, Tank gave a pleading look, "I don't want feel like a burden, Takeo." He paused as he watched his glass fill up under the tap of the kitchen's sink. "I'm sorry," he said softly as he turned, avoiding direct eye contact.

Furrowing his brows before relaxing them, Takeo caught the hidden sadness floating in the American's blue eyes. It was almost as though he had agreed to take in a sick puppy. A tall, blonde, blue-eyed puppy.

"You might want to unpack your things so it be easier for you."

Taking a slip of his water, Tank nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he placed a hand on the Japanese's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Thanks again, Tak. I'm really, truly, grateful."

Takeo watched the American walk pass him, knowing each one of his words were genuine. For a quick moment he stood there, observing him from the kitchen.

Tank didn't bother to carry much on him. Only a pair of worn backpacks; one a deep navy blue and the other a modern urban camouflage pattern, both filled with his belongings, most of which were causal clothing items and or hygiene items. And then of course there were a few extra belongings Tank sought to keep but were too painful to bear looking at.

Slowly he pulled out a thin grey blanket from one of his backpacks, letting his fingers run against its soft cloth before shortly pausing to fold it and lay it neatly upon the mattress. He repeated the same steps with his shirts and his pants, only to leave them neatly stacked nearby his new bed. Takeo couldn't bare to watch him repeat the same process over and over again, and instead found himself quietly excusing himself from the room, wishing the American a good night.

* * *

Three good hours had ticked away since Tank last saw his Japanese roommate leaving for work. The clock stuck at twenty hundred and the evening had slipped farther into its twilight while Tank remained awake, sitting alone in the living room with the lone kitchen lamp lighting the room. Without much of a thought, he stood up from his bed, still dressed in his jeans and his plaid patterned collar shirt, and made his way to the front door.

He bit his lips as he unlocked the door, the creaking of its frame unsettling his nerves. Refusing to let anxiety take him again, Tank forced his mind over body, taking a step out into the cool air of Nevada's summer nights, finding the climax of the moment.

The sky became a painting in Tank's eyes, rich and bold with its striking colors; the pinks and the purples blending into the greying blue of the incoming night. Mesmerized, he stood leaning against the railing before him.

He needed this; away from everything. A new start.

Hundreds of voices echoed within his skull, flooding his head with the freshest of memories. His mother's crying, his father's reasoning, doctor's orders, military orders, shouting,...little scraps that bumped around in his mind like lost puzzle pieces, most failing to make any sense.

Uncomfortably, Tank found himself wincing to a sudden sharp pain, gripping the railing under momentary stress. The pain had shot up from his right leg and Tank didn't hesitate to know why.

Taking on one last look towards the sky, he retreated back into the apartment.


	2. The Bear and The Nut

**Chapter One  
**

* * *

**"The Bear and The Nut"**

* * *

Tank didn't expect to sleep well past sunrise. He was lucky if he even slept at all.

It was around ten hundred when he woke up to the sunlight seeping through the cracks of the blinds over his head, his muscles far too stiff for his liking, and his sight hazing in and out.

"_Fucking shit-"_

He rubbed his face, doing his best to wipe the sandman's spell away. He hardly took notice of his roommate's light chuckling in the background.

"Sleep well?" Takeo teased.

Blinking his eyes dramatically, Tank sat up, yawning, finally taking notice of the Asian.

Takeo stood in the kitchen; bare footed, dressed in a pair of long basketball shorts and a white tank top. His hair, obviously not brushed, was spiked up in areas and feathery all about. Despite this, the Japanese managed a composed stature as he stood with his back leaning against a counter; one hand gripping behind while the other gently tipped his cup as so it poured his tea into his mouth. For moment Tank wondered if there ever was a moment where Takeo didn't seem so "bad ass".

Probably not.

"Surprisingly, I did sleep pretty well," he answered, scratching the back of his neck as he gazed away, embarrassed by his tiredness.

Takeo nodded as he pushed himself upright.

"Tea?"

Tank laughed.

"I'm not a 'tea guy'," He sat up, fiddling with his fingers, pursing his lips. "How was work?"

Takeo turned, pouring himself more tea.

"Good. Slow. Not many people shopping last night."

Work was where Tank had first met Takeo; mopping the floors of local corner store in the middle of their night shifts, dressed in kaki pants, white-collar shirts, wearing dark green aprons. Being that it was nearly zero hundred in the morning, hardly any shoppers and hardly any workers roamed the store.

However the sound of wet mops sloshing against linoleum in silence was doing little to pass the time for Tank.

He had looked up over his shoulders and noticed Takeo mopping, a headphone plugged in one ear and an indifference look upon his face. But Tank could never really tell with him; Takeo's face was unreadable.

And then there was the case of Tank being an average white American.

"_Uh, so, um, you're not from around here?"_

Takeo had given him a raise brow. Luckily, due to being in tune with his music, Tank figured Takeo didn't fully hear his question.

"_I'm sorry, had you said something?"_

Never have Tank heard Takeo speak before. To his relief, the Asian's evident accent made what would have been an awkward situation a rather enjoyable one.

It was nice to finally have a normal conversation. Takeo then didn't know about him.

He didn't know about the ex-Marine mopping floors.

_"I'm from Japan."_

However, he did, indeed, hear his question.

_"I tend to keep my headphones in as a way to make the time move faster," _Takeo gave him sly smile. _"And as a way to keep people from bothering me."_

Letting out a yawn, Tank stood away from his bed, dressed in a plain white tee and a pair of plaid pajama pants.

"I'm going to go wash up."

He saw Takeo shrug his shoulders from the corner of his eyes as got up to make his way to the apartment's only bathroom. He locked the door behind him, placing his baggie of hygiene products on the nearby counter before proceeding to relieve himself.

He hated how everything appeared to echo inside bathrooms. It always felt as though he were standing on top of an opera theater's stage, taking a piss in front of a grand audience.

Of course it was always minor things that came to irritate him.

When he was done, he washed his hands, only to pause once as he caught his reflection staring back at him.

He watched himself for several moments. Icy blue eyes fixed upon one another. Same peachy skin, same blonde hair, same fit, muscular build, same near six feet height, yet…

Something was different about himself.

Maybe he couldn't see it, but he knew something had changed within him. Something deeper. Something beyond his growing blond hair, and his growing stubble of a beard. Beneath him; beneath the civilian self, beneath the solider, beneath all his pores, his muscles, his blood… Beneath all of that.

When he finally left the bathroom, clean, shaven, and refreshed, he stopped short before the kitchen.

"I'm thinking of going outside for a walk."

Takeo eyed him. A flat sigh left his mouth as he continued to spread jam upon his slice of toast.

"You sure? Okay. I will leave you some toast then."

"Thanks, Tak."

* * *

The brightness of the day threw him off as he closed the front door behind him. The sky, no longer the pinks and purples he had last remembered, was veiled in a rich, bright blue. A few sparse clouds managed to float on by but did nothing to block the sun. The few leaves of the nearby Mexican Palmettos could only block so much.

Stretching, he walked away from Takeo's apartment, looking down at the courtyard below.

From what he could tell, Tank imagined the two-storied apartment complex to have been a motel in its former life, considering it's rather basic, rectangular format. And whoever the owner was, had either decided to stick with the 1950's style or had a taste for the funky retro.

The exterior walls were painted a golden dandelion with carrot orange for the door and window frames. The tile roof was similar shade of orange, a shade or two darker. The railings and stairs stood out in a reflective white coat while the jaded concrete floors laid cracked and sun blotched from age.

Tank proceeded to take the stairs, skeptical of their ability to hold his weight. Quick to make his way down, he caught sight of swimming pool not far off around a corner.

He stood by its edge, taking note of its dept from a mere three feet to eight feet against the low-lying diving board on the far side. The turquoise water waved calmly about as the late morning sun glistened the surface. Having already met their doom, various insects floated around and the few dead leaves didn't fail to join them.

When he finally decided to head back to the apartment, Tank stopped short of the stairs. Not far off, he caught a man, wearing a grey knit hat, watch him with heavy brows, studying his every move. Tank felt himself swallow uncomfortably, forcing a friendly smile upon his face as he found himself walking nearer to the stranger.

"Morning," Tank managed to chirp out.

The man straightened his posture, both of his hands in his pockets as his pale blue eyes continued to watch him.

"Good morning," the man finally let out a grin, breaking the hardness his face. "You are new here."

Tank knitted his brows in surprise.

"Yes. How did you know?"

The man made a circular motion in front his face.

"Your face, I never seen before."

Consciously, Tank felt his eyes wonder away from the face of the man before him and instead felt his eyes focus upon the man's neck. Peeking out by the collar his v-neck shirt, he saw a glimpse of the man's tattoo; a large, rustic styled, blood red star with bordering gold leaves, the outline of the star a matching a gold.

_Makes sense_, Tank thought quietly.

The man spoke with a hard and heavy Russian accent, managing to compliment his apparent thick build; not so much in the definition of overweight, but nowhere in the sense of Takeo's small frame size. He towered over Tank by an inch or two. His pale brown hair was short and curly. His light blue eyes were narrow and curtained under a natural glazed appearance like those of a sad dreamer. His dark brows arched at their far ends as his lips bore a natural flat frown while his nose sat large and straight bridged. His short trimmed goatee completed his appearance.

"I'm Nikolai. Nikolai Belinski."

Tank took Nikolai's outstretched hand with a grin.

"Tank. Tank Dempsey."

The handshake was tight and firm and almost crushing on Tank's side. He winced silently through his smile, allowing himself to taken under the stranger's arm.

"So Mr. Dempsey, what brings you here to 'Nuke's Apartments'?"

Wearily, Tank looked away.

"I just moved in a with a friend."

"A friend?"

"Takeo Masaki. Do you know him?"

Baffled, the fellow apartment dweller looked at him with an arched brow, his arm tightening its grip around the American.

"Takeo? You mean that Jap upstairs?"

Tank broke away from Nikolai's grip, offended by his sudden change in tone.

"Watch it. If it weren't for Takeo, I'd be still sleeping on the streets."

Nikolai heard the bitterness laced in his words, and to his surprise, the Russian took a step back, apologizing.

"I'm sorry. I did not to mean to anger you. It is just that, me and Takeo, we are…not 'best of friends'. We don't get along," pausing, Nikolai looked over at Tank, reading his expression. "Do not judge me, American."

"Who said I was judging you?"

The air thickened between them as they stood, arms crossed, peering at one another, their eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. The moment didn't last long however as Nikolai broke into a chuckle shortly after. Tank kept his bearing. He couldn't help but imagine the man before him dressed in an old Soviet trench coat and a fur hat. It seemed _fitting_.

"I like you. You are different. You remind me of an old girlfriend."

A corner of Tank's mouth twitched.

"Thank you, I think-"

"She was bitch. Brave. But a bitch. If she heads to Hell like she should, then she will take many with her," Nikolai laughed once more to the American's expense. "Not many have guts to look me in the eyes like you did. Except Takeo, but he's another story. Asshole. His eyes are empty like my many, old vodka bottles."

At last a shy grin broke through the American's face as he listened to the last few sentences that left the Russian's mouth.

"Yeah, Takeo's good at keeping a straight face," Tank laughed.

Once more Nikolai took the new neighbor under his arm, laughing heartily to his comment.

"Tell me, how did you come across Takeo anyways?"

Tank did his best to not look uncomfortable, yet couldn't help but imagine Nikolai holding a sickle at his throat. He didn't want be racist but the Russian's intimating nature helped make him think as so.

Not that he was intimated by him.

Ready to answer Nikolai's question, Tank saw the Russian turn his head towards the stairs, a visible frown growing upon his face.

"_Oh, this guy_," he heard Nikolai mutter faintly under his breath.

Tank turned to look, spotting a rather skinny man coming down the stairs in a hurried pace.

"_*Guten morgen, mein freund!*" _

Dressed in a light, dark purple jacket, a beige crop necked t-shirt, black skinny jeans, a silver rock belt, and a pair of matching black converses, the man stopped at the foot of the stairs, slipping his heels into his shoes as one his hands held up high in greeting .

"Good morning, Ed," Nikolai huffed.

The man smiled a wide grin, forcing his cheeks to push up against the bottom of his eyelids. With a final push, he managed to fit his foot in to his right shoe, making his way over to the Russian. He stood before them, his medium length bistre hair thick and messy as his pale, boney hands gripped at the strap of his satchel worn diagonally across his chest.

"I'd love to stop and chat but I'm late for class! That bastard Maxis is going to have my ass again!" The man, obviously German by his accent, paused, biting his lips. The pitch of his voice fell. "Not literally, of course. He wishes. But sometimes I think-"

Annoyed, Nikolai interrupted.

"You said you were going to be late."

The German grabbed at his hair, laughing almost wickedly.

"Of course! Of course!" he cracked. "Sorry! I'm a bit frazzled. Forgot to take meine* medicine! Don't worry! I grabbed it before I left!"

It was then Tank finally made eye contact with the skinny jeans wearing punk, their eyes clashing in a mix of mutual curiosity. He saw the German look him over, his mouth playing into a mischievous sideways grin, his livid eyes burning with delight. In return, bothered, Tank felt his face scowl into a glare.

No words were exchanged between them; just the communal interest and the newly forming dislike.

Rascally smirk still dancing with his lips, the German took a step in his direction before abruptly turning away.

"Well I must be going then! Tata!"

Tank met with Nikolai's less than amused expression, the obviously mentally disturbed neighbor now out of sight.

"_Who the fuck was that?"_

Nikolai grabbed at the skin amidst his brows.

"That was Ed. Be careful of him. He is strange and too friendly for Nikolai's liking."


	3. Nutty German Fruitcake

**Chapter Two**

**"Nutty German Fruitcake"**

* * *

"You have some interesting neighbors here, Tak."

Takeo stood in the kitchen, his hands busy in washing dishes. He glanced up at Tank for a quick second, narrowing his eyes in thought.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Tank leaned on a counter.

"The apparent Soviet downstairs and this weird German guy from somewhere on this floor."

Takeo let his brows relax in realization.

"You mean Nikki and Ed?"

"'Nikki'?"

Takeo smiled briefly. Tank didn't bother to hold back his laugh.

"I tend to call him that," the Asian explained calmly.

Tank pushed himself off the counter, swinging himself around a corner to the pasty green plastic dinning table nearby. He pulled out a chair, still smirking to his roommate's comment.

"So you guys do hate each other."

"Yes," Takeo looked over, his bangs brushing against the tops of his eyelids. "I find him rather annoying. He thinks he's so great. He's nothing but a stupid Russian dog."

Tank raised a brow in surprise.

"Sounds pretty harsh coming from you, Tak."

Shaking his head, Takeo made his way to the table.

"He says worse about me whether in English or his Russian language," he paused, peering down at the table. "I apologize if the toast has gone cold."

Waving a hand, Tank nodded.

"Don't worry about it. You didn't even need to leave me anything in the first place. Makes me feel like a fucking freeloader."

"Nonsense. You are like guest here. It would be rude to simply left you nothing," Takeo exhaled. "Unless, of course, you were Nikolai."

Tank smiled as he reached for a piece of toast. Upon spreading the strawberry jam on the bread, however, his smile quickly dissipated. The reappearing thought of the German's puckish side grin made his temple throb.

"Hey Tak, who the _fuck_ is the German fruitcake? It's 'Ed' or some shit like it."

Halfway making his bed in his room nearby, also a mattress on the floor, Takeo flashed his eyes over in the American's direction. He chuckled soon after letting out a weary sigh.

"That was Edward," the Asian caught his roommate's irritated expression as the blond heard the name. Takeo didn't hide his laugh. "You met him already too?"

"Not exactly, but there wasn't any need for words," Tank answered, his hands gripping at each other. Folding his blanket, Takeo could tell ex-Marine was ready to punch a hole in the wall. He figured Tank wasn't a patient man; a force to be reckoned with perhaps.

"Yes, Edward Richtofen is…" pausing, Takeo sought to find words to describe the German. "…quiet _colorful_," he saw the blond's expression change. "He is a brilliant man but he is a little…strange in the head."

"I noticed," Tank commented. The memory of Edward's smirk and poisonous grey eyes kept at irking his nerves. It was as though the bastard knew something he didn't.

_Why the fuck was he smiling like that?_

Tank cleared his throat.

"He'd look at me and smirked."

The Asian, finished with making his bed, leaned against his doorframe, eyes to the ceiling.

"Don't let him bother you. He's just like that sometimes."

Tank shook his head.

"Well, he better not piss me off again."

* * *

/

Edward Richtofen would have thought after staying in Las Vegas for the past three months, he should have already been adjusted to the Nevada sun. Well, his skin did. Sort of, at least. He was a shade or two tanner, yet he still resembled close to the pale European skin he had last remembered back home.

Back home in lovely, moderate climate, Germany.

He found himself strolling around, the hood of his jacket up, shielding him from the late noon's sunrays. Both hands shoved into the pockets of his skinny jeans, and his bangs sweeping at his brows, he kept looking about, observing the world surrounding him.

Along the sidewalks, people of all sorts passed him. Few eyes landed on him, most through indifference lenses; most hardly noticing their environment. A good handful wore sunglasses and dressed in shorts and casual wear.

Edward figured in a way he must have looked silly sporting dark colors and a jacket in the middle of the blazing month of June. He glanced downwards at his black shoes, huffing a low sigh.

He took a turn into a local park, walking until he spotted an open bench off in the distance. Without a second thought, he went after the wooden seat. He smiled to being seated under the full shade of the nearby bald cypress.

Slapping his satchel next to him, Edward finally allowed his shoulders to drop.

He needed a cigarette. Or so he thought.

Of course, he was never one for smoking. Only once he had tried smoking, back in his younger years; when the world wasn't speeding as fast as it did now. But he kept choking on the smoke itself. It made him dizzy. However, it was the relaxing appearance of blowing clouds of smoke without a care that was appealing.

Without a care.

"_Shit." _

He grabbed at his hair, pushing his hood back. For few quick moments he rubbed at his messy mane.

It was his professor, Dr. Ludwig Maxis.

The fellow German had scolded at him for his late arrival this morning and scolded him again for falling asleep in the middle of class.

As if the pressure of switching from biology major to an engineering major wasn't enough, Edward found himself in a mess of balancing a new life, work, and study. He may be ridiculously smart when push came to shove…yet even he, cocky as he was at times, knew he wasn't a miracle worker. He had limits.

Of course, Dr. Maxis could have cared less. The man only tolerated him because of his high grades, and because of his part time job as a teacher assistant under him.

"_How can I trust you if you constantly walk into class late!*" _

He had stood at his professor's office door, obviously embarrassed.

"_I can expla-*"_

"_Enough! Enough!_

Edward flinched to the professor's outburst as the man suddenly made a switch from German to English. He watched quietly as Maxis stood away from his desk, pinching his forehead as he strode over to him.

"_I don't want to hear anymore excuses,*"_ his boss breathed calmly. He paused. Twisting his face, Maxis didn't hesitate to point out the exit for his student. _"Now, get out!*"_

Minutes went by as Edward stared out into space, blinking his grey eyes blankly at the pebbled path meters away from him. The nearby bald cypresses swayed against the warm breeze behind him, the Nevada sun still blazing.

* * *

/

The clocks almost clicked at half to twenty hundred. The sun had gone, Takeo had already left for work, and Tank found himself alone in the apartment once more.

He pulled off his white tee and quickly switched into his white, work collar shirt, briefly revealing his toned torso for a mere few, glorious seconds. He ran to the bathroom, running a hand through his growing marine cut and checking his face. Satisfied, he ran back to the living room to grab his work apron, nametag, phone, and wallet, all while slipping on a pair of basic tennis shoes.

Being that he was short on money, Tank didn't exactly have any mode of transportation other than his own two legs, making leaving early a necessary.

Sure that all lights and anything electric were off, he locked apartment's front door with approval, and made a dash for the stairs.

He walked pass the courtyard, taking brief notice of a handful of neighbors chatting loudly nearby, but seeing no one he knew. He heard children voices shouting and laughing in the background as the sound of water crashing and splashing, leaked away from the pool.

Opening a rather noisy iron gate by the main entrance of the apartments, Tank stepped foot outside, watching the traffic of the street in front of him. He turned to his left, making his way down the sidewalk before stopping at a crossing. For a short while, he waited for the pedestrian sign to switch from the glowing orange hand to the white stick figure besides it. As he crossed the street, he continued to make his way down the parallel sidewalk.

The city was only starting to awake. With each step Tank found himself taking, he feel the noise of the world around him hum louder and louder. Streetlights lit the way while dozens of nearby building signs glowed against the incoming night. People bustled about; men and women, clothing ranging from casual to formal, dull and dazzling.

Cars sped by, sport motorcycles raced away, and who was Tank to blame; it was a Friday night. However, that didn't necessarily mean everyone's night was going to be filled with enjoyment.

A few more blocks to cross, and the ex-Marine came to an unexpected halt.

_Of all the people-_

From the corner of his eyes, Tank recognized a familiar skinny jeans wearing punk.

He spotted the German traveling along the paralleling sidewalk, heading the opposite direction. At first, Tank didn't notice him with the hood of his purple jacket up. Of course then, by shear luck, he and the nut end up making eye contact; sky blue clashing against lighting grey.

The German eyed him in suspicion, pursing his lips, hardly trying to mask his evident acknowledgment of him.

He smiled.

Fearing the worse to come, Tank, quick as his reflexes were, glanced away, doing his best to appear ignorant of the dreaded presence. To his misfortune, it was only seconds later when he heard the German call out to him with an enthusiastic wave.

"_Oh, why hello there!"_

_Fucking kidding me-_

Cornered, Tank knew he couldn't hide.

But he could run.

Picking up the pace, the ex-soldier sped through the crossing as soon as its sign permitted him. He almost felt himself smirk knowing that the street separating him and the German was soon to be a busy one.

However, that didn't stop the bastard.

"_Mein apologies! My sincerest apologies, sir!"_

Tank heard several car horns blast the air as the nut's voice was overheard apologizing.

"_-he is a little…strange in the head."_

Well, no fuck, Takeo.

"_Wait!"_

Tank didn't even bother to run. Instead, he turned and met, eye to eye, with the German.

"I didn't mean to scare you! I remembered you from this morning!"

_Of course you didn't mean to scare me. You're German, you take medication, and you just ran through traffic to come and greet me-_

"Your name's Ed, right?"

"Nein!* Err, no, I mean! It's Edward! Well, Edward, Edward Richtofen!" the German laughed nervously, grabbing at his bistre bangs, combing them back. "But you can call me 'Ed' if you want!"

Uneasy, Tank felt his brows rise. It was just now he noticed a slight scar over Edward's right eye, and…

_A tongue piercing?_

Not that he watching the German's mouth, but he couldn't help but notice something bright catch his eyes; Edward's neon green tongue piercing.

"Excuse me. I'm going to be late-"

"Don't mind me! I just wanted to talk! Are you a new neighbor?"

Tank continued walking, shaking his head all the while. The German wasn't letting up.

"Was that a 'yes' or was das* a 'no'?" Edward proceeded to ask, skipping along side to Tank's annoyance.

The American sighed.

"What's it to you?"

_Son of a bitch._ The German smiled the same rascally smirk that Tank had ceased to forget.

Tank did his best not to send a fist flying straight into the German's face. His temper was dwindling rapidly, and his hands clenched against the seams of his pants. He needed to do something fast. Taking a deep breath, he shot a hard look in the skinny jeans wearing nut's direction.

"_Get the fuck away from me. Now."_

Edward's expression changed immediately. At first, his eyes grew wide in shock, glassy as his dark brows lifted to match the expression. However, that phase didn't last long as Tank's words began to register. The German's brows soon fell heavy and his lips curled into a tight frown.

"_Well, you don't have to be so rude about it!" _ Tank heard Edward holler after him, the German's voice cracking into higher pitch at his last few words.

The only thing pitiful then was that, he had left before he could see Edward's smile twist away.


	4. Unexpected Customer

**Chapter Three**

* * *

**"Unexpected Customer"**

* * *

Takeo Masaki had always found traditional Japanese music soothing. And alongside, he also found them to be a sad reminder of his far eastern home.

He swept away at the convenient store's linoleum floor with a broom, both earbuds in, and his iPod volume turned up, and his surroundings fading slowly away from his conscious sight.

The shelves, the groceries, the walls ceased to exist in his mind. Everything around him melted away and molded into something familiar. He strode slowly as he came to imagine the white plastic floors to become smooth gray sand and the dust at his feet, fallen white cherry blossom petals. Within a few short moments, he no longer he felt himself to be dusting away dirt off a filthy corner store, but instead he was gently sweeping his beloved dying flowers upon the shore of a lonely lake under the dark mask of twilight.

It wasn't unusual to find Takeo in this state; quiet, reserved…meditative. It was how he sought escape from the world, even if it meant wandering down the path of much heartache. Reminding himself of his own grief wasn't something he meant to do on purpose; he saw it as a barrier that he had to repeatedly step over and brush to the side.

Nevertheless, he found a haven in allowing himself to be swallowed into his own mind's creation. Much to his pity, however, the daydream didn't last long.

From the edge of his vision, he caught something. Pulling both of his headphones off, Takeo squinted in the direction of the store's entrance.

"_Edward?"_

Before he had a chance to speak any further, Takeo found his mouth ambushed beneath his neighbor's right hand.

"_Quiet!" _he heard the German whisper to him harshly.

Edward had the hood of his jacket resting over his head, shadowing much of his upper features as he managed to push the Japanese back, up against a nearby shelf. The closeness of their bodies was far out of Takeo's comfort range. Outraged, and highly startled by his neighbor's behavior, the Asian managed to muffle out demand.

"_What are you doing!" _

Hand still blanketing the shorter man's lips before him, Edward inched his face towards Takeo, his grey eyes large, fanatical, and searching. His voice still hushed in a tight whisper, the German questioned him.

"_Is he here?" _

"_Who is here?"_

"_The handsome blonde-err the blonde boy with the blue eyes!"_

Bewildered, Takeo stared into Edward's eyes. His neighbor's tone was dripping in anticipation. Forced to see face to face, it didn't take him long to notice through the dark circles the frantic look that danced in the German's livid pupils. Prying himself free of his neighbor's clawing grip, and the unwanted palm over his mouth, Takeo stood away.

"Are you well, Edward?"

The German chuckled a short, yet mad laugh.

"Ja, Ja!* I am well my dear Takeo! I was-"

Without a warning, Takeo found himself, once again, pushed up against the shelf. The metal shelves managed to stab miserably against his back, as the sound of bags crinkling echoed in the aisle.

"_Do you hear that!" _Hysterical and whispering angrily, Edward shook the Japanese, his pale, boney fingers once more digging into the Asian's tan skin.

"Hear what? What is going on!" Takeo demanded frenziedly.

"Nothing! Nothing! Just shut up! _Shut up!"_

Still trapped in Edward's grip, Takeo took hold of the German's shoulders, forcing the deranged neighbor to take a step back. He peered once more into the swirling livid eyes before him.

"Calm down, Edward! What is the matter? Did you forget to take your medicine again?"

Nerves still pulsing in a hectic storm of unbalanced emotions, the German's pupils danced about the store. Takeo couldn't help but notice his neighbor's constant playing with his tongue piercing; the green orb bumping against his front teeth.

"Nein*, I-," Edward caught Takeo's accusing stare. "Ja*- but I didn't mean to! I ended up grabbing an empty bottle by accident. I mean it has been a few days since I took them...But that isn't the point! I-"

Once more without a warning, Takeo found himself being pulled away by the German; this time into a back hallway where the store's restrooms and back storage were located.

"_It's this blonde boy I saw at our apartment complex today!" _Edward continued, lowering his voice once more into whisper. "_I saw him talking to Nikolai this morning, und* later saw him walking on the way here, wearing the same uniform you were wearing!"_

_Tank-_

Takeo nodded in realization.

Indeed something sparked between the American and the German.

"What about him?" asked Takeo, calmly.

Edward kept toying with his piercing, flashing the object all the while.

"Does he work here?"

There wasn't a single doubt in that floated in Takeo's head that Edward had something in mind for his roommate. He studied the skinny, hooded man, his own face unreadable as ever. He knew Edward didn't need him to answer him. The German's own intelligence had already formulated his own conclusion; Edward only seeked confirmation.

"Go home, Edward. It is late."

Indeed, it was late being that the Pacific clocks ticked at well past twelve in the morning, which that hardly was a problem to Edward. The man was thrived on the night; always up and about, doing work, and roaming around wherever he pleased. Sleep was barely a part of his world. Knowing this, Takeo figured the German wasn't going to exactly heed to his suggestion. However, much to his chagrin, he watched the neighbor give him a pouting frown as he turned towards the direction of the entrance, his hood still shadowing his head. Being that Edward kept turning to check his surroundings, it was apparent he was still keeping an eye out for the American. But to the Japanese's relief, the schizophrenic was at least, for once, taking his advice.

"_Well, he better not piss me off again."_

Tank's words from breakfast rang in Takeo's ears the moment Edward stepped out.

_It was best the American ex-solider wasn't to be messed with._

Luckily during the duration Edward had been in the store, Tank was busy counting inventory on the far side of the building with his own music blaring away in his ears. More to his luck, no customers and other employees were around to witness the scene. Relieved to see the fraught neighbor out of sight, Takeo grabbed his broom, popped his headphones back in, and resumed cleaning. For the rest of the night, he took sanction once more in his mind.

His aching back was another story.


	5. A Motorbike Named Desire

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_**'A Motorbike Named "Desire"'**_

* * *

There are very few that understand Nikolai Belinski; the sickle-wielding Russian himself, and the only other he allowed to know the real him. The only other who was capable of warming his stone-cold heart. No one else.

Of the many days he found himself home, in his lackluster, two-bedroom apartment, he often times sat uninterested upon his broken down couch, mindlessly watching his small, archaic television. For the longest time, it was a rare sight to find the Russian doing much else besides his work as a local furniture mover.

But lately, things began to change for Nikolai. Bustling about his home, the man kept himself busy cleaning every centimeter his apartment. In all honesty, it was an amazing sight to see.

Never before did the Russian throb with such speed and energy. It was almost as though he danced to the sounds of his cleaning solutions being sprayed, his dusters sweeping, and his vacuum's humming. Indeed did Nikolai enjoy the art of dance and music, especially of those that reminded him of his old country home.

"_Morning, Nikolai!"_

Looking over his shoulder as he dropped his trash in the apartment complex's local dumpster, the Russian caught a glimpse of a familiar sandy haired man nearby.

"Dempsey!" Nikolai turned to face the American with a grin. However, the smile was quick to fade to the sight of the man standing besides the blonde.

"Morning to you as well, Russian," greeted Takeo, a venomous ring in his voice and a frown present amongst his flat features.

Nikolai took a quick glance between the American and the Japanese.

"A man like your self," the Russian spoke slowly as he faced Tank. "Is far superior to a man such as the one standing besides you."

Takeo didn't bother to hold his laugh.

"Are speaking of your self, Nikolai?"

Tank was quick to catch the Russian ball his fist as Takeo returned a snarl. Placing a hand in front of the two men, the blonde stood as a wall betwixt them.

"Whoa there ladies! Let's not start a fight at eleven in the morning."

Despite the blonde's sincere smirk, there was something commanding in the American's tone that forced the two neighbors to back away with a sense of respect, even if the respect differed in view. For Takeo, it was the matter of which he was brought up; the culture of respect, manners, and honor. Not say these very same values didn't exist in Nikolai, less than more, of course. But for the Russian, he respected the marine in Tank. Overall he admired the American military system. From uniform to strict discipline, Nikolai admired their system. Interestingly enough, it was funny concept for man from a once rivaling superpower.

Takeo held a hand to the side of his forehead, shielding his face from angling sun.

"I will meet with you outside the gate," he stated firmly as he glanced in the American's direction, his eyes flickering for a moment in Nikolai's direction. The Russian didn't hesitate to return a look of disgust as nothing further was exchanged between him and the Japanese. Though the Russo-Japanese War had formally ended over hundred years ago, the battle continued to rage on in present-day Nevada, United States.

Tank didn't fail to notice Nikolai's narrowed eyes follow the Japanese. The American chuckled.

"I don't understand why you guys hate each other so much," Tank laughed.

Crossing his arms, Nikolai shot a questioning look towards the blonde.

"And you do not have a rivalry of you own? Or are you okay with spending time with the German?"

Like a fire of a candle caught in harsh winds, Tank's grin dissipated.

"Ha ha ha," the words fell from the American's mouth dryly. "Trust me, Takeo is a thousand times better than that freak bag."

"In your opinion, Mr. Dempsey."

The brightness of evening sun glistened in the American's sandy hair as Tank squinted his eyes against the sun, his blue eyes dimming in color. Nikolai, in turn, glanced upwards towards the darkening blue sky, his own pale eyes becoming lighter. A minute passed by before the Russian heard the blonde speak up again.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Nikolai. I should probably head out-"

A brow raised, the Russian turned to pull the ex-Marine under his arm.

"Nonsense, my friend! You are no trouble! I was only busy cleaning my apartment! A break is good, no?"

Tank gave a shaky grin as he found himself once more under the Russian's suffocating grip.

"Yes, a break is good," the American managed to choke out.

Satisfied with the answer, Nikolai freed Tank from his hold, laughing heartily all the while as he stood watching the ex-solider take a sudden step back. Knowing the American wasn't going to allow the Russian to see him startled, Tank joined his laugher, though hardly with the same energy as his neighbor.

Leaning against a column behind him, Tank crossed his arms over his chest.

"So cleaning. What's with cleaning? Expecting someone?"

Nikolai nodded.

"Yes," the Russian's vision fell to the ground. A soft smile broke through. "My daughter."

Tank's eyes brows jumped in response, his blue eyes enlivening in new information.

"I didn't know you had a daughter."

"There is a lot you don't know about me."

Narrowing his eyes as a corner of his mouth cracked into a smirk, Tank kept his arms crossed. Nikolai laughed to the American's expression.

"But da*, I am expecting my daughter to stay with me for the summer," Nikolai let out an irritated sigh. "Damn my ex-wife."

"Divorced?" Tank asked.

Nikolai gave a weak smile, his pale eyes glassed in an array of emotions.

"Many."

* * *

/

When Tank finally bid his neighbor goodbye, he came to find Takeo leaning against a wall outside the apartment's main gates, busy peering down at his smart phone. The Japanese had one leg up behind him as one of his hands went up to lightly touch the bill of his brown _Domo _snapback.

"Sorry about that, Tak," Tank apologized, acknowledging his roommate's patience.

Takeo looked over at him, his dark eyes studying the American.

"It's fine," the Asian paused in thought. "As long as you don't begin to act like that pesky Russian."

"I'll never understand what's with you guys."

Takeo laughed a short laugh as he adjusted his snapback.

"Do not bother, Tank. Not worth your time."

Tank shrugged his shoulders.

"Whatever."

* * *

Takeo didn't bother to speak much as they managed to walk their way to a used car lot. And when he did speak, he only spoke in short, meaningful answers and explanations. That was another thing Tank noted about his roommate; Takeo was mysterious. Secretive.

The walk took about fifteen minutes, leading them further into the run down part of town in which they lived. Tank couldn't help but notice the small, jaded homes of the nearby ghettos. Upon seeing their almost deteriorating conditions, Tank felt a strange chill course his spine. The nearby chain fences entangled in the growing weeds of the unkempt yards, the peeling of the homes paint, and the cracked concrete was more than enough to remind him of the poor conditions of a land an ocean away.

Swallowing a mental knot, Tank had pressed on by, finally finding himself standing next to the ever serious-faced Takeo as the Asian stopped within a few feet inside the used car lot's entrance.

"Is this the place, Tak?"

Takeo nodded in response.

"Yes," Even if his roommate ceased to smile, Tank figured the Japanese was smiling secretly on the inside. "It was here where I had saw it."

The "it" Takeo spoke of was an older model of the classic universal Japanese motorcycle. According to the description the Asian had given Tank, the motorbike was of the early 1990s Honda models, the _Nighthawk _series. The one Takeo had spotted was of a blood red color, dark with a brownish tint mixed in. Despite its rusted, once silver pipes and scratched exterior, Tank saw the charm the bike once and still held. Even more so as he glanced over at his roommate, a whole new light sparked in his normally expressionless black eyes.

"This is a nice bike, Tak."

Takeo returned a small grin as he placed both of his hand over the aged handles. However the smile didn't last long as a frown soon took its place.

"What's wrong, dude?" Tank looked Takeo over. He wasn't blind to the look of anguish that twisted upon his roommate's face. The Asian shook his head.

"I do not have the money," Takeo's voice became soft and pained; almost angry. "It is only a dream. Maybe a nightmare."

Tank felt the heaviness burdening the words as they left Takeo's lips. Saddened by his roommate's change in mood, he watched for a short moment as the Asian gripped at the torn leather seat of the bike. Takeo gritted his teeth all the while.


End file.
